


Coleridge's Writer's Block

by IAmAPastry



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Amanda is mentioned - Freeform, And extremely OOC, Bye-bye teeth, Dadsona is a writer, Fluff, How Do I Tag, Insert your own dadsona, M/M, Mat and Brian are barely there, Not enough sassy Amanda, Omission is lying, Or omission, So is Ernest, Swearing, This is cheesy trash, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unnamed Dadsona (Dream Daddy), Writer's Block, accidental lying, hugo is a dork, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmAPastry/pseuds/IAmAPastry
Summary: It's rather flattering when people compliment your writing, even when they don't realise that they're doing so, particularly because they don't know you wrote it. It isn't lying when you're just not telling a person something, is it?OrDadsona's a little too caught up with being flattered by Hugo.





	Coleridge's Writer's Block

 

“So, _Taylor_ _Coleridge_ ,” The distorted voice mumbled into my ear. I'd told Sam time and time again to get a better phone, but being the damn cheapskate he was, he of course didn't take my advice. Anything to not spend any superfluous amount of money. Working as his main pagefiller at the _Newspaper Journal Gazette_ , I should know. Eyeing the latest “article” -The man refused to give me any actual work, so I refused to deem it as such- and plopping down into my desk chair, I knew there wouldn't be a big pay check this time either. “Think you can get it in by tonight?”

“It'll be a bit tight,” I replied, trying to keep the biting stress out of my voice. Little bit tight was an understatement of an understatement. There was still so much to do, such as writing more than six words. “But I think I can manage. Worst case scenario, I can have it to you by early morning.” Translation, five in the morning after an all-nighter. Yay.

Sam was quiet for a moment, and I could feel the money slip by every second he didn't say anything. If there was anything Sam hated more than giving a person a liveable wage, it was having to work last minute. Not that I could blame him on that point. If I weren't so easily distracted, I'd been done already. I quietly blamed Craig and Brian for keeping me out all weekend to do healthy things. Curse those bastards for lowering my cholesterol.

“Fine.” He wasn't happy about it, but I hopefully bought myself some time to bullshit some words into some sentences. Some comprehensibility preferred, but not necessary. It wasn't like people cared all that much about my “articles”. He didn't say anything as he hung up. Rude, even for Sam. But I didn't have time for etiquette beyond a small irritation and typing out an insult which was quickly erased.

I chewed my lip. Crap. Why did I agree to this? Like, money to feed myself and my daughter is great and all, but what was I really accomplishing with this? Really, I could just switch from the newspaper to blogging for a second blog. Maybe another foodie blog. Maybe some ghostwriting. Still wouldn't get any credit, but that wasn't what I was in for. At least those things were appreciated. This on the other hand...

I wasn't sure if it were to put it nicely or bluntly, but my “articles” were worthless wordshitting to fill out the newspaper to make it look like it could one day have potential. If I were to quit, no one would miss them, because no one ever read them. They could be blank pages for all the readers cared.

No. Goddammit, I needed to focus, not depress myself. It was hard enough to reach the word criteria without those stunting thoughts. Glancing at the laptop, seeing the little line blinking mockingly at me, I saved and slammed it shut. I didn't have any motivation, but I knew where to find it.

With a stretch and a satisfying pop from my back, -Which may have sent a jolt of pain through my spine, because damn old age- I rose from my chair and meandered through the door, into the outside. Ugh. Outside. Sunny skies, so many social people. My personal hell. A personal hell I'd have to endure for the wonderful nectar of the gods.

I'd disagreed with Amanda about the coffee shop when we first moved into the neighbourhood. It wasn't necessarily the convenience, although I would quietly admit that the location was great now, but rather the awkwardness of interacting with people. Though, I've been more or less forced to retreat this hesitation once I actually got to know Mat. And realised that I could just get my order to go. But Mat was great too. Sympathetic and, most importantly, just as awkward as me. As I entered, I gave him a tired smile, which he returned, and a silent understanding vibrated through our quiet conversation.

“Another all-nighter?” He asked and I nodded grimly. He gave me another smile, this a tad more empathetic. “I'll get ya the coffee.”

“Thanks, baby,” I replied teasingly, to which he blushed, muttering something beneath his breath, and turned away from me. I plopped down into a nearby seat, scanning the shop. It was relatively quiet for the day, but that wasn't exactly a surprise, considering it was an hour after lunch on a Wednesday. There were only a couple of people, mainly loitering teens who was likely playing hooky. My initial dad instincts told me to give them a hard time, but my lazy dad instincts were arguing against that. I'd let them be...For now.

“Pipra, what are you doing outside of class right now?” Ah, good, apparently my laziness got its way. Wait, who was taking over my paternal duties?  
“Uum, field study, Mr. Vega?” The girl replied, sounding more annoyed than she should at having been caught being truant. Hugo did not look impressed, rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses. How could a man look so good with glasses? He was dressed rather professionally, which was strange, because he only dressed like that when he was working, didn't he? Apparently the girl wasn't the only one playing hooky.

“Pipra,” Hugo sighed, exasperated. “I am not in the mood today. Either you go to school right now or you'll be taken to the principal. And don't think of going somewhere else, I _will_ know if you're not back in class.” Pipra stared at him, sceptical. Hugo clearly didn't appreciate it. “I'm offering you a free pass here, either take it or don't.” She stared at him for a moment, considering it. Eventually, her sensibility won out and she took off out the door like a burnt ant.

“You really think she's going to go to class?” I asked once the she was a dot in the distance. Hugo jumped, seemingly not having noticed me, then, after realising who I was, shrugged.

“Not really,” He admitted, returning to his coffee, but folding the newspaper that had been in his hand from earlier. “But, to be fair, I didn't actually give her a free pass. I just don't have the jurisdiction to take her to the principal right now. Off the clock, you know?” He took a sip of coffee, offering me a smile. “Doesn't mean I can't report her whereabouts to my colleagues, though.”

“Off the clock?” I asked before I could stop myself. This was what friendly conversation was, wasn't it? Or was I being rude? Curse my social awkwardness! “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” He answered, one eyebrow tilted a little curiously, but a small smile, partially reassuring and partially teasing, showing that he clearly understood that I hadn't the foggiest on how the concept of interaction worked. Still, he didn't point it out, and for that I was grateful. “I've been at a conference the greater part of the day. The substitute's called in for the entire day, however, so I get some leisure time.” He glanced down at the piles of papers scattered over the tiny table he was sitting by, a frown gracing his handsome features. “Not that there's much leisure to be found here. I still have work to do. I'm just taking a short break to read the newspaper.”

“The pagefillers, I see,” I commented, as I noticed a rather familiar “article”. Mine from two days ago, to be more specific. “Old edition, though, isn't it?”

“Oh, um, yes,” He admitted, looking somewhat abashed suddenly. Strange. “I happen to like these articles, they're rather uplifting, in lack of a better word. I've been rather busy this latest week, however, and I haven't been able to keep up.

“Heh, at least somebody likes them,” I laughed. Then realised, as he gave me an awkward, quizzical look, that he didn't know I was the one who wrote them. “Sorry, it's just-”

“No, no, I understand,” He sighed, seeming a little irritated. Crap. I didn't mean to offend him. I only meant to offend myself. “They're not considered real articles, and to an extent I would agree, even though they do meet the basic criteria of one. Their intended purpose isn't information, as is the rest of the newspaper, but rather to meet a certain demand of pages and number of pieces in each paper. As you called it 'Pagefiller'. But it is to be argued that these pagefillers hold more than their supposed worth. Each one shows an aspiring author, their writing styles, and their potential. Not to mention, the stories they often covers are optimistic, cheery pieces of news.”

“I'd hardly call it news,” I snorted before I could stop myself. “Sorry. I just have some bad experience from it.” Though, I'd have to admit, him actually liking it was sort of nice. And he was an English teacher, wasn't he? I wonder if... “Hypothetically, if you had any advice to give any of them when they were experiencing writer's block, what would you say?” Oh god, no, why did I say that? It was so obvious.

“Well, that's both an open question and a specific one,” He told me. Did he not pick up on what I said? “Everyone has their own coping mechanism with it, most commonly to just leave it for a while and come back later.”

“What if there isn't time for that?” Okay, now he _had_ to pick up on that. Weren't literary teachers great at picking up and overanalysing subtle hints? This wasn't even subtle. Maybe that was the problem?

“Well.” He paused, seeming to genuinely think for a moment. Eventually, he grabbed the newspaper and unfolded it again, displaying my “article”. “One trick would be to go back on what's already been written and work on it, even if it's just rewording or even repeating. It can help make the gears turn and show where one wants to continue. Sometimes it can even enhance the article as a whole. Take for example this writer. They're brilliant in their own right, a little too brilliant to be limited to this form of writing, but it's clear that they aren't quite enjoying what they're writing and are often ending up in these slumps of writer's block. This type of writing has a tendency to end up forced and thin.”

Did he say “brilliant”? Okay, so he may have insulted me a bit there, but I came for critique, and, damn, I thought there'd be worse coming. He actually likes it?

“You actually like it?” Crap. Did I say that out loud? “The article I mean. Not for any particular reason, just curious.” I was certain my cover, whatever it was, had been blown at this point. But I couldn't really care. A light blush dusted over his cheeks.

“As I said, they're uplifting. This one in particular has a talent with metaphors and pointing out otherwise unseen details. The dad jokes are just a bonus. The pseudonym's a nice reference, too, I have to admit, albeit it rather obvious.”

“Coleridge,” I said, a misplaced laugh lacing its way through it. “ _And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair!_ ”

“I see you know your Romantic literature.” It was hard to quell the little spark in my chest as I noticed how truly impressed he seemed. “I hope that answered your question. Are you trying to get into this yourself?”

Oh Hugo. How sweet. How oblivious. How adorable.

“I suppose you can put it like that.”

“If you have any further questions, I wouldn't mind helping you out.” Hugo smiled and I was endeared by the sincerity in it. Then, he looked over to the piles and piles of papers, and the smile melted away into a frown. “Some other time, though. Still have to hold up the semblance of a responsible teacher.”

“If it's any consolation, you have me fooled,” I laughed. “I'd totally let you tutor my kid any day.”

“I believe I already do.”

“No. No way. For years, you have played me! I have been duped!”

“And you have been served too.” As if created from the fine notes of music dancing through the coffee shop, Mat appeared behind me. I jumped, having completely forgotten his presence, a vine of guilt creeping up my back for doing so. “Uh, like in movies and stuff. I thought it would be funny, but I should probably leave it to the Hollywood professionals, like most other catchphrases.”

“Hey, don't put yourself down, you hold up catchphrases better than you'd think...” I paused for a moment. “Baby.”

“You're never going to let me live that down, are you?” He laughed and it relieved me that he didn't seem to take badly to my teasing. Mat extended the cup to me, as well as a bag. “Banana bread on the house.”

“You saint of a man. I will offer vintage vinyl and finely crushed coffee beans at the head of your shrine.”

“Just make sure to purify yourself with some good tunes before.” I laughed at that, as we exchanged sweet, sweet nectar for soul-damning money. Ah, what a saint, to liberate us plebeians from that accursed currency. I said my goodbyes to Mat and Hugo, wishing them both good luck, getting the same in return. Though, I felt as if I didn't need it as badly as I did before.

As I returned home, with Hugo's advice in my mind, I sat back down by the computer and continued typing. It started out as well as it had ended, but slowly it filled out, the words flowing from my fingers. I needed consistent breaks, of course, however, it didn't feel nearly as hopeless as it had been before I'd run into Hugo.

Hugo.

As I proofread the article -I felt a little more confident to truly call it that now- a final time before sending it off, my mind spun in fatigue and my thoughts crashed onto him. I was grateful, of course, but that wasn't exactly my first thought. He liked my work. Not only that, he thought I was brilliant, and that wasn't me paraphrasing. I suppose I was flattered, however, the word felt somehow insufficient to describe how I felt, which was strange on its own. Sure, I'd been praised, but, at the same time, also offered genuine critique from an unwitting audience. It shouldn't be making me feel as I was now.

Which was what? I couldn't really tell. Maybe it was just something from the banana bread. Or, as I glanced at the time and realised that it was well over midnight and way beyond the time I would scold Amanda for being up at, it might just be that I was tired. That sounded reasonable.

I took that explanation to mind as I went to bed. It would seem, though, as I drifted off into a deep sleep, that I didn't take it to heart.

 

After that Hugo and I became fairly good friends. It wasn't the feedback he unknowingly gave me. Well, not only that. We simply started hanging out more, even if he were busy much of the time, which cut into our time quite a bit. They were still moments I treasured, particularly our trivia nights. Though, I still couldn't quite stop slipping in the discussion of my articles every now and then, yet he continued to be oblivious. I'd more or less started to push it to see how far it would go until he finally realised I was Taylor Coleridge. So far, he remained too adorably unaware and I was beginning to suspect I could shove a first draft in his face and he still wouldn't notice. He kept giving me critique and he kept speaking so undeservingly highly of me, in greater length and greater passion as I improved. I wanted to thank him, of course, however, I couldn't do that without telling him the truth. Part of me was amused and unyieldingly delighted by his praise, but some of me was also frustrated.

This frustration only grew as I noticed Hugo was suspiciously quiet and would dodge my questions whenever I asked how he was. Maybe it was something with Ernest. Maybe he didn't feel comfortable enough to speak about it with me. The thought hurt, and I turned to a piece of Chèvre with honey and cashews in order to ignore it. It followed me to the wonderful cheese and kept nagging at me. I thought our relationship was great. I felt as if I could tell him almost anything. Obviously, though, he didn't feel the same way.

No, that was unfair. That he didn't confide everything in me didn't reflect on the state of our friendship. We hadn't really known each other for too long, either, so it made sense that he wouldn't be comfortable with sharing everything with me. I stabbed a little too hard at a piece of Brie, launching it over toward Hugo at a record speed, the messiest part, of course, landing straight on his tie. Great.

“I'm sorry,” I quickly said, rising from my seat to help clean him up. He quickly, with some stiff awkwardness, waved me off however.

“It's fine,” Hugo told me, though even he could clearly tell himself it wasn't convincing. It wasn't fine. At all. Something was bothering him and, judging by the way he acted, it was regarding me. I must have done something to upset him or to make him dislike me.

“Have I done something?” Goddammit brain to mouth filter, why do you abandon me every time? Hugo turned rigid, hesitating for a moment too long.

“No...” He mumbled quietly, returning to wiping off his tie. My lips drew in a thin line as I tried to keep in an irritated sigh. He seemed to notice and shifted a little in his seat, seemingly considering something. “Sorry, something has been on my mind lately and I would rather avoid blowing it out of proportion.” That tipped me over.

“What do you mean?” I tried to not demand it, however, I was at a particular point of exasperation at this point that such things did not come easily. I winced at the harshness of it before continuing. “I mean, if it's confidential or you're uncomfortable talking about with me, I get it. Though, it's obviously bothering you quite a bit, wouldn't it be better to have someone to talk to about it?”

“It's not as simple as that.” He sighed defeatedly, though, fixing his glasses unnecessarily. He chewed on his lips for a second, making me wonder if he'd decided to keep quiet on it after all. “Amanda told me something... _interesting_ the other day.”

“If this is about the burning tennis ball, I can explain-”

“No, no, it's not that.” The shadow of a smile crept onto his face. “Though I'd love to hear that story later on.”

“Oh god, don't tell me this is about that guinea pig and shampoo.”

“No, uh, it's not that either.” He took a breath, either to collect himself or to keep from laughing. I couldn't quite tell. “I had just picked up a copy of the newspaper and, unusually, had some time to spare just before class was in session. I was sifting through it as the students arrived, including Amanda.”

Oh crap. I could see where this was going and yet it was not in a way I could have predicted. Dammit. I should have just told him right off the bat, shouldn't I've?  
“She took note of what I was reading,” He continued, as I tried to look as clueless as possible by choking down a fist-sized piece of Manchego. “In particular, the article I was reading, and she made a remark on the author...”

The air became stale and deafeningly quiet. Crap. I should have told him right off the bat. Was he expecting me to say something now? I swallowed, or rather tried to. That Manchego was not going down easy. He wasn't staring, but it was almost that he was, and it discomfited me. Or maybe it was just my imagination fuelled by that discomfort. I chewed a little on the Manchego that was somehow still in my mouth, before finally getting all of it down. I opened my mouth and took a deep breath.

“ _Good cheese_.” Goddammit brain. Now he definitely was staring at me.

“I shouldn't have-” He started, but dammit I couldn't let him think that when I was the one to drag it out of him.

“No, you should have, sorry, it's just-” I tried to compose my tongue and suppress the regurgitation of words, as well as the Manchego that was trying to claw its way back up my throat. “Oh crap, there's no way for me to come off here not looking like an asshole.” When I glanced at Hugo, however, there was no indication that he thought such a thing. There was only a slightly comforting indication for me to continue, no resentment nor judgement in it. A narrow, brittle breath made it through my teeth. “I wasn't trying to mislead you...Initially. I will say, though, in my defence, that I never said an explicit lie. I just avoided the truth. Ah, I'm not making myself look any better!”

“Take a breath, it's fine.” Hugo seemed a bit bashful as he said it, however. “To be perfectly candid, I feel more embarrassed than angry that I didn't pick up on it sooner. What I said about your articles must have been tiresome, as well, and I apologise for it.”

“ _Are you kidding me_?” I wasn't sure if that Manchego had managed to scratch its way back into my mouth or if I somehow had some stuck that I hadn't noticed before, but I managed to choke on it all the same. “No one ever said anything like that to me!” Hugo paled and was on the brink of apologising. “I meant that in a good way. This is all coming out wrong. It was just, no one's ever said they liked those things. I was _flattered_.” I didn't understand why I stressed the word as greatly as I did, however, it felt important to do so. Looking at Hugo's expression and the slight relief which was slowly relaxing it, it seemed as if it truly were. “I should have told you, it's silly that I didn't, but I just sort of _didn't_. At least the first time I didn't really think about it. I have no defence for the rest. It just sorta...snowballed.”

The booth became silent, the only noise the muffled murmurs of the surrounding teams, all closed off as if we were encased in an invisible bubble. Hugo looked beyond uncomfortable, somewhere between awkwardly shifting in his seat and being still as a horrified statue. It was an unnerving image, as well as just looking at him filled me with an intense sense of embarrassment, and so I turned away from it to stare at the last piece of cheese between us. Still not looking at him, I slid the plate over to his side.

“Stilton?” It was meek but it was the only piece of conversation I had at the moment. He glanced at me and immediately looked back down, taking the cheese with a quiet thanks. It was likely a trick of the light, but it almost seemed as if he were blushing. I deflated, the last sliver of hope of salvaging this night, if not even this relationship, diminishing rapidly. “Sorry.”

I had expected him to be angry. I had expected him to ignore me or to snap at me. I expected whatever negative reaction that a human being could possibly have.

I did not expect, however, for him to start laughing.

It was a small thing, though no less hearty than any other laugh. Chuckle might have been a better word, yet it wasn't as demure as that. It was charming, to say the very least. It was deep and rumbling and entirely too enchanting. It made me wonder what it would sound like, what it would feel like to have my head leaned upon his chest.

“We are silly,” Hugo snickered, more so to himself than me, though there was no clear breach of privacy when I heard it. Another apology was halfway through tumbling from my lips, when another ring of laughter interrupted me. “When you think about it, from an outside viewpoint, it's rather funny.”

I giggled myself, the tension melting off of me. I suppose it was pretty funny. Before either of us could truly comprehend what was happening, we were giggling like maniacs. Quizzmaster Quinn gave us a sideway glance, clearly weirded out, but not willing to confront us about it. Brian and Mat looked at us, a smile on both their faces. There was something knowing about it, but not anything I spent time considering. At the moment I was too caught up with trying to catch my breath and reign in the tears. Hugo seemed to be doing the same thing. Our evening became increasingly better, any moment of uneasiness having evaporated, as if it had never existed in the first place. I couldn't help, however, as we snuck glances at each other, to feel the slightest flutter in my stomach. Something stronger than flattery.

 

“Goddammit, Sam,” I sighed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The latest article was finally done and this one I was more than confident to call that. It was a promotion of a kind, I suppose you could look at it. With it, though, came an unfortunately larger amount of words. Oh well. At least it was about double the amount than before.

I should have been startled when I felt two strong arms wrap around me. Any reaction or panic was muted, however, both by the fatigue that was currently drawing me ever closer to sleep, but also because I'd gotten fairly used to the comfort of these particular arms.

I turned to press a kiss to Hugo's lips, the man lazily accepting it. He seemed about as keen as me to be awake at this hour, it'd seem.

“Good morning,” He muttered sleepily into my ear. Wait, morning? I shot a glare at the clock. _Goddammit, Sam_.

“Mornin',” I replied, my head falling back onto his warm, comfy chest. Damn this guy felt nice. I could fall asleep like this, I knew. Mainly from experience.

“Have you been up all night?” He asked, concern seeping into his voice. I rolled my head so that I was somewhat sitting up again, yet still found myself leaned against Hugo.

“Didn't intend to,” I answered. My eyes dragged themselves across the text, trying to take in the words, only for them to slip out of my comprehension, like sand dragged back into the ocean. I kept trying to focus to simply get the same result, and I frowned at that. I wondered if there were any coffee.

As if reading my thoughts and instantly disapproving of it, Hugo gently tugged me out of the chair.

“How about I read through it and you go get some rest?” It was meant as a suggestion, however, it was clear that it was more or less an order. Still, just because it was an order, it didn't mean I was planning on following it.

“I have to look through it,” I grunted, making a weak attempt to sit back down. Hugo would not allow it and I was forced to comply to the act of standing as, just as it was as attractive as it was infuriating, he was stronger than me to an unfair degree. Knowing this, he, with a teasing smile, slowly lead me away toward the bedroom. “You'll have to wrestle me for it.” Maybe a good challenge could get him to change his mind.

“Maybe another time,” He said, a withheld laugh tinting his voice. Curses. My plan backfired. Time for plan B, whatever that was.

“You have to go to school, though,” I half reasoned, half whined, turning to nuzzle into his chest. I smiled as his arms enveloped me. Triumph.

Then was startled into being fully awake by an unbridled panic as he practically flipped us both onto the bed, pinning me down. I wasn't sure if he'd just pulled a wrestling move, however, suffice to say, I didn't appreciate it happening when I wasn't prepared.

“It's Saturday,” He countered, completely unperturbed. “You get some sleep.”

“That's cheating,” I slurred, the panic quickly receding and being replaced once again by the weariness. “I wasn't ready.” Nor could I get up at that point as the bed was simply too comfortable. He had won. For now.

“Don't pose the challenge next time,” He teased. I grunted in some form of protest. Before he turned to leave, I grabbed onto his collar and pulled him down into a kiss. Or, more properly put, I weakly tugged at his shirt and he entertained my attempt. It was short and sweet and over too quickly, however, I simply didn't have the energy to keep it going.  
“You're an evil, gorgeous man,” I muttered, sinking deeper into the soft bed. Hugo replied with something, his tone playful and endeared, but which I simply couldn't hear as I fell asleep, happily knowing that, with the help of Hugo, this article would be great. Honestly, though, the quality of the article was only an added reward to it all. As long as it was with Hugo, I was content.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed, but my betareader doesn't check spelling nor grammar because they're lazy, and so am I.


End file.
